Saturday, November 26, 2005
I left beer pong, drinking and collegiate bullshit in MN.
I need a new life.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
I am also thankful for my knucklehead friends and family, though they tend to drive me crazy at times.
and last but not least I am thankful to all of you, the ones that read this rag and make me feel that much less alone on this rock we call Earth.
I hope you & your friends and family are well.
and too my Canadian friends...I don't know eat a chocolate danish or something.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Tonight, after a couple hours of sleeping and general screwing around, I managed to muster up enough energy to eat dinner. You see today was a wash. Not only did I not go to work, but I also didn't go back to the emergency room to get my knee x-rayed. I feel if you go to the doctor, the doctor should be fucking ready to handle your medical needs. Last night when I was in the ER, it wasn't that the X-Ray lab was broken, or even closed, they just had no one to run it.
Needless to say I was not happy. So instead of getting results and a diagnosis and a prognosis. I got, "wrap it in an ace bandage and ice it." Exactly what I told the doctor from another country I have been doing for two weeks. He injected me with steroids which killed the pain for about two hours and then brought it back with a vengence. At this point, I am considering having the lower half of my leg removed or just taking my own life.
8 diet root beers later I am still trying to write a decent post. Lately this seems like a futile effort. I appreciate the love I get from the 4-5 people who read / comment. Sometimes I think I am typing into an endless void, and then says something besides, " HEY POST SOMETHING MOTHERFUCKER."
The weather the past few days has been complete shite and my seasonal depression is starting to kick in. I'd like to buy one of those lights but, without getting a referral from my doc, I don't have the $200 my insurance company would cover most of, and we all know how much I love the doc.
A friend in California, I was IM'ing with just signed off. Now there are no more time zones for me to go looking for people to chit-chat with. So I fire up iTunes and listen to the Video Game News Radio, pretty much the best podcast out there. Not only can I get my geek on but the interaction in between the guys on the show is pretty funny.
Yeah this post is shit. Tomorrow there will be coffee, and I will try and be better.
I hope you all are well.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Fuck everyone trying to stop the bus. I know it sounds like I am just trying to blow smoke up an A-listers ass, but Reverend Tony Pierce keeps it real and jukes and side-steps suckers trying to get in his way.
Preach on Rev, preach on.
I hope you all are well.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Monday I came home from work and for whatever reason, I was extremely tired. I'm talking tired like after the first day of a summer job, tired like after playing rugby with Rip Van Winkle keeping time, tired like you had to walk home from college. I hung up my jacket and keys and retired to the bathroom to take my, "Thank Christ today is over and I can just relax" piss. I marveled at the amount of foam for several seconds and then waved good bye to the steamy goodness my excretory system had so graciously provided for me.
I walked into the living room and collapsed into the most uncomfortable recliner in the world. Most days and even some nights, drunken or otherwise I'm able to at least grab a nap or some quality pass out time. The recliner was grumpier than my floor model-sized body and refused to let me get comfortable. Reluctantly, I got up and made my way upstairs, where the bed of doom awaited me. Normally, I try to stay out of my bed, unless I am sick or retiring for the night. Otherwise I have a tendency to spend way to much time unconscious.
I undressed to boxer briefs and t-shirt and fell much like Schwartzenegger in Kindergarten Cop into my bed. I pulled my fleece blanket and down comforter over me and expected that to be all she wrote. 30 seconds, one minute....two...five...fifteen and I'm still awake.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?
I was cursing the grumpy recliner for not letting me get some winks in. "Is that to much to fucking ask" bounced off the walls of the coldest bedroom in the history of bedrooms. I tried reading Harry Potter. Nothing, I tried reading the Bible. It was no good. Now I was too angry to fall asleep. I had some sleeping medication left over from a darker time in my life but it was downstairs, would give me a vicious hangover and would take 45 minutes to kick in.
THIS IS BULLSHIT...I JUST WANT TO TAKE A NAP!!!
There are so few things I ask for that I didn't think a nap was a huge request. I layed there. I tossed and turned and fought with the covers and fought with myself. Finally a light bulb went on over my head I figured out the answer to my problem. I needed to masturbate. I had neither the energy, nor the desire but I knew as soon as terminal velocity was achieved, I was as good as unconscious.
My thoughts descended into the nether regions. Professional women in Volkswagens, massage therapists, girls I had known in college, Judith Light from, "Who's the Boss" Sarah MacLachlan, Ashley Banfield, teachers from highschool, midwestern girls from college, preacher's daughters destined for hell, co-workers, the night time shift supervisor, Nia Vardalos, the actress who played counselor Troy on Star Trek Nine Inches Deep, Dr. Cox's ex-wife on Scrubs, Anna Kornikova, Faith Hill before she decided to stop eating, Jennifer Aniston, the mom from, "Grounded for Life".........
........and that's the ball game folks.
I exhaled something to what I think a death rattle would sound like and curled into the fetal position. My blankets creating the rest of the womb around me. I was relaxed and warm and all was right with the world. I would like to be able to get a read out of my brain activity in those post coital moments. I'm sure it looked liked just like the equatorial divide on any globe. I slept. I knew I was asleep but I was so comfortable, I didn't care I was wasting my free time. I was sleeping the sleep of the just and life was good. I enjoyed my sweet repose, unfettered by worries or stupid dreams.
Now, here is the part of the story where the author wants to mention the fact his brother has moved in with him. The author would also like to mention God likes to play funny little jokes on Jackass when he is at his most vulnerable.
It was as if God set up his dj booth in my bedroom and decided to get the party started. I woke with such a start that all I could do was scream. I thought my brother was coming up the stairs singing and was going to walk into my room and find me in a distressing state of undress. I managed to cover myself and then realized it was not my brother making the loudest noise I have ever heard. My windows...No FUCK THAT MY HOUSE WAS SHAKING!!! An earthquake or some fucking horrible disaster was going down and I was going to die with so much left on my, "To do list".
The onslaught continued but I noticed it had sort of a musical timber to it. It didn't matter to me. I was terrified and without my wits. I picked up my alarm clock and beat it like it stole something from me. After several solid punches, the noise continued, and I was on the verge of tears. WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?!?!?! I heard the only noise I could discern out of the whole audio assault, a truck door closing.
I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Peeking out through the blinds I saw a Hummer backing out of the neighbors driveway and into the street. My windows still rattling like they wanted to get out. I then watched the young cheerleader walk into the house as if nothing were wrong.
Now knowing what struck such terror into me, I was fucking ANGRY! I crawled back into bed and tried to calm myself. My heart was still racing and after several minutes, I knew I was not going to be able to get back to sleep. My very nice mellow and calm state, something that is a rarity for me, was ruined by some spoiled, suburban asshole kid, in a vehicle they have no business driving, slumming it, yet gaining street cred by dropping their friend off in the 'hood. I swear if I had a bazooka, that Hummer would have cooked my dinner.
I pulled on a pair of flannel pants and a tshirt and went down stairs to make dinner. My flip flops made a soft but consistent swoosh as I glided around the kitchen. It wasn't music but it was enough to keep me from focusing on how angry I was. In the course of preparing dinner, I managed to fill up the trash. I tied the bag and took it outside. I met the cheerleader and her mother. We are normally very polite and cordial to each other and in a lot of ways I could not ask better neighbors, but I was on fire in my brain and stomach.
"Hi Jim, howarya" mom says.
"Well I was doing good up until about a half hour ago" I said.
"Why what happened?" She asks.
I can see sweetie pie start to squirm.
"Well I had kind of a shit day at work, so I figured I'd take a nap and relax before dinner" I said
"Well that sounds nice" she says
"Yeah it was until I was woken up by fucking rap music so loud I though it was the end of the world. I sleep right there, and pointed to the bedroom closest to the drive way." Seriously that shit is not right, not to mention illegal. I said.
She looked at sweetie pie, who didn't even have the decency to say she was sorry. After a minute she told her daughter to go inside. "You know Jim" she says.
"Look I said, I have no problem with you or your family but I am furious right now and I don't want any excuses or answers. You know how stressful my job is and all I want now is, to go in and have my dinner and try and grab some peace and quite before I need heart medication. Have a good night."
She looked at me as though I was having anal sex with her daughter in front of her, with her daughter enjoying it. Mouth gaping open trying to think of something to say. I wanted to tell her to go and pray about it, but really my issue was not with her. I put the lid back on the can and went in to wash my hands, slamming the door behind me.
There was a knock at my back door about a half hour later. I didn't move from my office. I was on my time and I was semi-calm. Talking about anything was only gonna get me more fired up. When I walked out the back door for work the next morning, I found a note on my windshield.
"Jim, We're sorry for what happened last night, Please come and talk with us so we can resolve any issues. Have a great day at work. Sincerely, The Dipshits Nextdoor."
She was trying to sneak a peek at me through the blinds but my training at the Agency, is amazing and she is not so slick. I crumpled the note up and threw it over to their side of the fence.
No discussion, not now, not ever.
I hope you all are well.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
I mean I haven't had a Sunday off in I don't know how long, and Sunday is one of my favorite days to lay in bed, read a book or newspaper and fart.
But since I will be working from 1pm-9pm rather than 7am-3pm, I'm gonna have to change my evening plans around a bit. I may have to come right home from work and ice my knee for a while (which is getting better, thanks for asking) and read a book or fall asleep early. No shirt, no shoes, no problems. It's kind of a pain in the ass. I mean at 3 when all of the people I normally work with leave, I'm gonna want to go with them but at least I didn't have to get up at 0:dark-thirty to get to work. Tomorrow will be a different story.
People were trying to get a hold of me last night and I just shut my cell phone off. I didn't want to hear it. Last night was one of those nights I wanted to sit byself, ice my knee and just be alone. I wasn't sad or even in a bad mood, but I wanted to not hear about or have to think about anything. I downloaded a bunch of John Edwards podcasts and that's probably what I will listen to when I get home from work. I've decided I need to see which chucklehead I will get behind in the next election. I tried watching Ned Kelly again last night. If someone can finish that movie in one sitting, without falling asleep, let me know, I have an award in the mail for you.
30 minutes till work and I have yet to shower, shave or poop. Time to break out of this popsickle stand and get ready to do the nasty.
I hope you all are well.
Friday, November 11, 2005
It could be a true story, semi fictional or something I listened to whacked out on caffeine.
"Who didn't grow up in a dysfunctional home? Who didn't have it tough growing up? These people need to suck it up and deal with it, this is life" she drones. I can feel my jaw clench and in some I wish this was a cartoon / or a graphic novel so I could stroll over there and jam the barrel of my .357 down a throat that hasn't seen anything but a golden spoon in some time. I picture the heroes, the guys she is talking with, stepping to me and with my other hand, I pump off 4 rounds and they're both dead before they hit the floor.
I can see fear in the bitch's eyes and the odor of fear is pungent as it runs down her leg. Her much younger and reasonably attractive friend makes the mistake of pulling her cell phone out of her $400 purse. A pistol whip later and she is unconscious and I am focused on the matter at hand, the whore with the big mouth. She trembles awaiting her fate.
"You think you know it all, don't you? You think your opinion is law and that everyone should thank you for it." The words pour out of my mouth, fluid like Sunday morning flapjack syrup. She's dumber than I thought, shaking her head in a "no" motion disagreeing with me as if I give two shits as to what she has to say. "Bitch, what you know about dysfunction wouldn't fill a thimble" She shakes her head again and I withdraw my pistol long enough to slap her across the face. I jam the gun back into her mouth just as quickly as I took it out. I stifle a gag at the thought of blood and broken teeth running down my throat. It repulses me but that's the least of her worries at this point.
I'm gonna start in on her again and realize the two kids behind the counter haven't moved, blinked or taken a breath in about five minutes. "Don't worry," I growl "you guys are fine, just keep your fucking mouth shut." Whore on the floor begins to moan and not in that good way. If there was not a hand cannon firmly implanted in her oral cavity, I imagine her saying something to the effect of, "please...Please...PLEASE!" Grabbing the back of her head like a porn star, I pull myself in close to her. She tries to recoil from my loving embrace but there is nowhere to go. I'm sure the stench from my steady diet of hot coffee and tuna sandwiches is too much for her. She gags, coughs and gasps as flecks of blood cover my face. Now, I'm pissed.
Now you listen and you listen good. Dysfunction is my business and business is good. Maybe you think you had it rough cause you’ve had to work for a living or cause dad tuned you up a bit the first and more importantly last time you brought a black guy home. Let me tell you something girlie, every morning, including tomorrow- you should get down on your knees and thank the blind-eyed god above for your “rough life.” Her eyes were wide as sauces and tears screamed down her cheeks at an even pace. She squirmed and squealed like an animal taking its last walk.
“How about Daddy coming into your room every day, night or whenever he had a free moment to show you how much he, “loved you.” “How about ten years of that, is that dysfunctional enough for you?” “Would someone need to suck it up and just deal with that or does that meet your standards? How about step-mom coming home so high on junk, she cant stop her new boyfriend from making your little brothers fuck each other, is that dysfunctional enough? Or does a boy who spills milk on a rug, deserve to be beat unconscious and locked in a closet cause mom and “Gary” are too busy to “deal with it?” “Maybe these fucking spoiled brats just need to stop crying and suck it up, huh?”
They’d trade lives with you for five minutes and going to sit here and pontificate about how hard you had it? Not on my watch. You’d better hope to god you never see me again, cause if you do, it’ll be the last thing you see. Start thinking about people less fortunate than yourself, let me help.” With that I took the .357 out of her mouth and did enough damage to her right foot that it would have scared a hungry dog away. There were dark spots on the java jockeys cargo pants where the piss was welling up. I put my guns away and grabbed several pounds of Kona beans. I tried not to get blood on the fifty I pulled from my wallet as I tossed it on the counter. “I probably won’t be in for awhile, Wendy.” The glaze over her eyes was one world class pastry chefs would never achieve. “Do me one favor, call
Friday, November 04, 2005
My weekend was uneventful as I was laid up with jello-knee. Today, I went back to work and walked gingerly around as things went down. The L7 was all, "you might have to go back on desk duty." I told him to go fuck himself as there was some asshole on the night shift, who came into work for two months hobbled around with a cane and did absolutely nothing. The response didn't go over well but it kept my out of the office.
I'm getting restless. There needs to be some sort of fucking change in my life soon or things are going to get very hum-drum and vanilla and JJ can't have that. He doesn't stand for vanilla, you know. At any rate, things should be getting more interesting on here and maybe, just maybe, you will come back again and again and perhaps tell all your friends.
I hope you all are well.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
she dropped the smart bomb on my inbox and said, "let's be friends."
curious, but not ready to punch the clock yet so I double-clicked with apprehension
her file was sparkly and uninteresting like most
well polished Hollywood smile
outfits she will never finish paying for
an army of friends playing the RI version of "Sex & the City."
and we all know that shits been over for years now
so take your $12 Cosmo and get to steppin' cause this burro has no time for your self-involved, gimme-yo-cash bullshite.
Again with the doe-eyed, come-hither pics and a chorus of, "wouldn't it be fun to hang out?"
No, not really. Cause you obviously don't know the first thing about me. Which is sad cause even on this internets thing, my heart is firmly stitched on the sleeve.
she tried the giggle and playful slap, thinking I would be enticed by reindeer games
more pretentious bs
her perfume reeked of desperation
34, newly single-looking to mingle
convinced we are perfect, without looking at my pics, fRiEnDz, profile
She really really likes ABBA...strike one
really really really likes to go clubbin' w/ her girls...strike two
thinks Bridget Jones is ground-breaking independent cinema...strike three, yer not out yet.
I would feel bad, like I made a hasty decision
but then she dissed FallOut Boy and my favorite genre of music
asked if I had a Nintendo Fun Club Card
and "if all the music I liked was on TRL last week?"
I laughed the laugh of the confident
and just shook my head
no reason to be hating on me, or the best band out of IL since the Pumpkins
I asked where her crown was and she got pissed
thought I made a "princess" comment
when all I really wanted to know is why the dancing queen was without her headdress
There was a fuck off and...
you're an asshole...
rock music sucks....and
well maybe not *coldplay (strike 347) and a
"Wanna grab a drink some time?"
I smiled and tried to be sweeter than Christmas cookies
said "I'd love to" as soon as...
she dropped the Carrie Bradshaw routine
got her soul back from Prada and Gucci
stopped watching Growing Up Gotti and...(wait for it)
listened to music recorded after 1979
I hope you all are well.
*Coldplay is fine in my book. I just hate how they get murdered by corporate radio.